When Worlds Collide
by GuiltyPleasures21
Summary: AU where Hawke's the Crow assassin sent on assignment to kill an Orlesian lord, Arrigo, Isabela's famed husband. Events & people twist with unfamiliar backgrounds. Will lean into both verses with many characters of each. Angry Rogue Marian Hawke story.
1. Chapter 1

"Blind goes to Zev this bout. Go on, elf. Fork out the bits."

"Ahh, my dear Jessica, that haste is going to earn a cut across that pretty throat someday. It will be a great shame when it happens." Across the table, the fine-haired blond pulled two of the tiny bronze coins from his meager stack of copper and silvers. He tossed the bits in casually, clear brown eyes glittering mischievously.

"Was that a threat, spilling from your herpes-laden lips, Zev darling?"

"I assure you, m'dear. If these lips carried disease, you would be the first I'd share it with."

Jessica's eyes narrowed dangerously, almost matching the slitted points of her ears. Her dark eyes roved over him, feathery brown eyebrow judging the jest. Zevran shared an easy smile with her, own brow lifting in suggestion. "What say you, Sica? Share the danger for a taste of these lips? Brenk can assure you, they are sweet."

Brenk, one of the newest assassins to their branch of the guild and terribly teasable flamed to color easily, cheeks matching his firebred hair in confirmation of Zevran's jest. "Who's turn is it? H- Hawke's up, isn't she?"

Marian Hawke broke eyes from Stella, their assigned dealer for this set. She eased three silvers off the top and tossed the coins into that middle stack on Zevran's blind. "Raise."

"Ouch," Zevran held a hand over his heart, turning to the stunning woman beside him in agony. "You wound me, Madam. Must you always do that on my blinds? I've not even the chance to cheat your hand yet!"

Hawke's mouth quirked. "Then quit."

"Ahh, you underestimate my favor, love." Zevran winked at her, eyes flitting to Stella with a tiny lick of his upper lip. Stella lowered her head, shuffling dedicatedly.

"Love," Hawke mused, hand crossing over Zevran's silkily, where her forefinger and thumb lightly grazed his pointer finger. "Must I snap your filthy finger again, Zevran?"

"Ahh, but the touch of Divinity is worth the pain, no?" Hawke's fingers clamped down over his. Zevran quickly retracted. "Ahh! Slip of the tongue, dear. You know how dirty my mouth can be." Hawke slicked that finger back ever so slightly. "Not from experience, of course. That lowly me should have the pleasure…" Hawke's eyebrow lifted. "Is a ridiculous notion from such a fine lady, me."

Hawke released his finger, smile taking the edge of her mouth. "That's a boy."

"Lady," Zevran grinned, open to mixing his pleasure with pain around this dangerous creature he'd grown to know and love, even if she wouldn't permit the carnal act. Not with him, anyway. Low the day Zevran was born a male, he often cursed. Hawke only took female lovers, for shame.

Raynor tossed up his hands in aggravation, as one who'd played with them quite often, he knew when to stay out. "I fold. Enough of this. I've better to do than lose further dignity to you connoisseurs."

"Do you prefer I see you on the lakeside or in the bedroom tonight, precious?"

"In the bedroom, you lawless scoundrel." Raynor grumbled.

Zevran licked his lips. "Over the banister for your punishment tonight, if you will."

"Yeah, yeah," Raynor waved him off on his way out, "Just finish up early; I've to be away to Fereldan tomorrow."

"Ahh, satisfying earnings when one's poor, aren't they?"

Brent quietly folded his hand.

Jessica pursed her lips, tossing in the necessary coin to play her blind hand. Zevran called with a smirk, easy grin floating between the two ladies still in the hand to the one about to deal out their cards. "Stella? Grace us, please."

Stella dealt, providing each player with four cards, two of which they'd be able to utilize. The highest and the smallest, or the two middle birds, whichever they chose without additional ground, so were the rules of Wicked Grace, a game that could often have a player afterwards smacking themselves for choosing the wrong pair.

Zevran and Jessica both caught Stella's eye immediately, catching the half-squint of her left eye. Both set their two stacks of two, the right being the one they'd choose from, the left, the discards. Stella panned out two middle cards of which they may play their hand from. "Jessica," Hawke's fingers moved deftly, palming a card to slip back her griffon behind a hand. "Why do Fereldans trump Orlesians in passion?"

Jessica's eyes narrowed. "You're cheating."

"Ooh, I love when she's like this." Zevran leaned forward eagerly.

Hawke held up two cards between her forefingers, amused smirk coloring the blues of her eyes. "It's because our Val Royeaux glistens in the heat." With an easy flick of her offhand wrist, Jessica cried out suddenly, gripping her wrist where a sharp sliver of a dart had slid through the tissue of her hand to palm. Jessica gawked, reaching for her hand, but Hawke snatched up her wrist first, dragging her half-across the table to turn it palm-outward, revealing the Angel of Death card, which had just been dealt upon the table. Hawke's eyes sparkled. "No one likes an easy bleeder."

Zevran chuckled, likely cheating himself as Hawke shoved Jessica back to her chair. Wicked Grace was an easy enough game on its own, but when played amidst assassins, _everyone _cheated. They'd leveled their own version just for that purpose; cheating was permitted, as long as the assassin was sneaky enough not to get caught. To avoid calling out the cheat every hand, therefore, a player who wrongly called out a cheat would be forced to forfeit their hand mid-round. To make it advantageous to call out a fellow assassin, the rule was instilled that if an assassin correctly caught another cheater, they won the opposing player's whole stash and, if no stash was to be had on the loser, they became slave to the caller for a week.

Hawke eyed the three pennies Jessica had left; not nearly enough to save her from slavehood. "Sica," Hawke licked the bottom edge of her top lip. "Prepare my bedroom when you're done dripping on our table."

Jessica, who'd ripped the dart from her hand with a small cry and was now frantically clutching the wound, glared at Hawke so heatedly, her eyes might've melted ice. She shoved back from the table vehemently, flinging her leftover three bits at Hawke in rage. "This isn't over, Hawke."

"Hold the knife from between the sheets this time, if you will." Jessica glowered and stomped off.

Zevran grinned. "Oh, she is a firebred tonight, Hawke. You do a man jealous."

Hawke didn't bother correcting him, merely turned back to their game with an expectant air. Zevran grinned, raising his turn. "Fifty bits." He painstakingly started counting out the cash.

Hawke flipped a silver in easily. "Save your mind the trouble. I raise to a piece."

"Ooh, a woman of expensive tastes, neh? I will call, Madam. Let us see the second flop, Stella."

Stella burned two cards and flipped two consecutively, revealing an eagle and a nug.

"And the hawk shows herself," Zevran added dramatically, eyes sparkling of mischief. "I'll check this round."

"Raise," Hawke repeated. "What's your count?"

"I have a fifth stack of your great number, lady. Shall we simply put it at that?"

Hawke was unamused. "Count."

Zevran started the trying task. "You know, Hawke. I could have a great deal more to bet with if we permitted my body into the pool."

"I wouldn't touch your body, Zevran. Not on a bet, not on my life's worth."

"No? I'm trained in the art of flexibility as a courtesan. You won't even notice I'm male until I've slipped between those pretty thighs."

"Your neck, Zevran. So slender…" Hawke stared, watching Zevran flex back the tunneling muscle languidly to stretch its length.

"Like a woman's, yesss?"

"Like I could break it with one hand." Hawke mused, eying her hand for measurement.

"Maybe I'm just disturbed, but that sounds so deliciously alluring somehow, even directed at me. Is it just me?" Stella shook her head, but stopped quickly when she consciously realized it. Brent merely shied back, eyes wide at his companions. The boy had a ways to go in their guild yet. "I count twelve pieces, and sixty-two bits." It was about a tenth of Hawke's stash. "Is there nothing else you may wish of me to bet, Hawke?"

Hawke started to deny, but paused when the thought hit her. "Zevran. You've been assigned to Orlais per next mark, haven't you?"

"I have. To kill the Antivan Duke of Rialto, no less. The Crows see worth in me, no?"

Hawke's eyebrows lifted. "That. I want your contract for the Rialto Duke."

Zevran's eyebrows lifted to join hers. "My contract, Hawke? For Arrigo?"

Hawke almost rolled her eyes at the name. "If that's the Duke's name, yes."

"It _is _an extended stay contract, you know. I'm supposed to find and collect the ring before he dies. Supposed to be some enchanted piece he keeps hidden away that the buyer specified."

"I know the assignment. I want it."

This job would attract great notoriety…" Zevran mused. "Such a thing is not cheap." Hawke plucked up her single gold sovereign and flipped it into the center, which gathered Zevran's undivided attention immediately. "I usually hate to steal from such a beautiful woman, but I may have to make exception tonight. Very well, Hawke. My contract."

"Let me see it." Hawke demanded ruthlessly, knowing better than to trust any of the assassins within the Crows, even friends. Zevran hesitated, but complied to pull the small scrawl from his inner tunic pocket. Hawke gave a pointed look to the pile, where Zevran then laid the parchment.

"You may regret this, Hawke."

"Stella," Hawke ignored him. "Flip the last card."

Stella complied and burned another card, flopping the last one face-up, the silver fox. The slightest of twitches caught the corner of Hawke's lip. She looked to her opponent expectantly. "Zev?"

"Sorry, Hawke." Zevran turned over his hand, revealing a Griffon and Snake, both cards he'd be able to utilize off the Angel of Death, who complimented his total point score to 20 without fail. Zevran reached for the gold pile with a smirk.

But it wasn't enough. Hawke touched his arm to stop him, flipping over her first card with the other, revealing a mabari. Zevran paused, aghast. "No." Hawke's mouth quirked further as she touched the last card's edge.

"Zev?"

"You are such a cheat," Zevran covered his head in pain, "You've gotta be kidding me. Stella!"

"Apologies, messre. I've no idea what you're alluding to." Stella glanced at Hawke, who gave her a rare smile.

"See me in the parlor, Stella."

A beautiful smile took Stella's lips. She inclined her head, then turned to leave. Hawke dragged her new coin stash over and pocketed the contract. "Next time, Zev. Maybe I'll leave you with a few bits."

Zevran grumbled dilutedly.

Brent watched her go, then looked to Zevran. "She doesn't sleep with men?"

"Not a chance, kid."

**XXX**

A fortnight later, Hawke straightened the scuff of her leather armor, flattening it down with a roll of her hands down the smooth fabric. It wasn't exactly ceremonial armor, but the stuff was glossed up enough to look it.

Not for the first time, her pretty features were to be utilized in the versatile fashion to pass off as a 'pretty boy' for this particular charade. It was to be Hawke's first attendance at one of the Duke's casual parties and she intended to be memorable enough to make an impression. That was the goal of this first charade after all; she would become his casual acquaintance to friend and confident, attending any number of these meaningless gatherings or other events to learn him; his schedule, habits, dislikes, and faults. All were pertinent to sculpting the perfect accident. Unlike a usual mark, a duke had to go down quietly. It was Hawke's job to assure this all went to plan.

Glancing over to the girl on her arm, Hawke remained silently grateful for Stella's attendance. The girl was a wicked one with her magical arts, a rare find for the Crows, and helped Hawke sustain her disguise by keeping an active spell sustained to hide the blood tattoo over her nose. She could do little to make Hawke appear more masculine, but it mattered little. Hawke had carried this guise before and knew her mannerisms, how to blend, even as a particularly stunning 'male' among the crowd.

Stella smiled at her, but Hawke didn't return the gesture. In her brown leggings and heftier-fitting leathers, hair slicked back in a traditionally male, greasy manner that was supposed to be fashionable, Hawke entered the open courtyard of the gathering with Stella on her arm.

Immediately, the two guards at the door bowed respectively, while Hawke contemplated how easily her knives would push through the back of their lazy necks. If this was the security, the job could be over in a day, much less drawn out. Hawke passed into the courtyard with Stella, easy strides taking her to the middle, where Hawke's eyes darted over all present in a flash, measuring. More harmless guards stood at every entrance; an array of boring nobles spoke in groups of two to four respectably, none forming a crowd while servants waited on the royalty. Other hunters similarly suited spoke in their own groups near the far end. Hawke's eyes roved to those she found most pompously outfitted, searching for her mark.

Hawke imagined how easy it'd be to kill them all, one by one, teach these ridiculous dossied-up people even a measure of the fear their lower classes faced.

Hawke eyed a bushy-bearded nobleman in flagrantly assaulting brights. Her eyes burned. She envisioned the casual flick, a small cut at the back base of the neck that could even go unnoticed, if sliced correctly. Watching as the man bled out on the stone, frantically trying to find and staunch the wound… her eyes switched over to his companion he spoke with, a wiry little man. The length of her dagger would equal just enough to slip through him hip to hip while he screamed. And that other man, the one with haunted, hung over features and the backside chin cleft of an obtuse nug. The point of her throwing knives would slip ever so graciously through those wide, clueless eyes. Or even that hag next to him, who- _whoa._

Hawke's eyes caught on one of the Orlesians she currently daydreamed of slaughtering. She was as fine-dressed as the rest of them, in high heels and peach silken gown with her hair let loose and flowing, fine red tendrils as silky as her clothing. She was tall, slender, and beautiful. Too beautiful. Not as laden with billowing layers like some of her fellows, the dress she wore was elegant, classy, and could be ripped away in an instant of true danger. _Andraste's tits, _that was arousing.

Hawke had found herself a bard.

_So maybe one of them is spare-able…_

She turned then, as if sensing her stare, and she probably did as well. The woman had the perfect body to match a rogue's skills and Hawke could tell there were more than just legs under that silken outfit. She caught Hawke's eye immediately, perhaps seeing more than she ought to of Hawke's guise as a hunter.

With long-legged strides that could be better used wrapped around her waist, the woman strode over to them in quiet confidence. She curtsied to Stella. "Madam," then tilted her head just slightly in incline to Hawke. "Ser- Ahh, I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar."

"Amell," Hawke supplied for her, "Gamlen Amell."

"Gamlen?" The disbelief was well hidden from her features, even if showed in her voice. "I had no idea you were still so… youthful, Ser Amell." That sparkle those shard-grade eyes dripped seduction; Hawke could guess where this bard's specialty rested.

"It's amazing what a good diet can do for one's health," Stella interrupted before Hawke could respond.

Hawke gave her an once-over, stepping back to introduce. "My wife is quite right. Nyssa only gives me the best of care." Hawke retained the deeper tension of her vocals, too expert to slip up on such an error.

"Wife?" The question hung. "How… unusual, Ser Gamlen."

"Indeed, she is my sparkling diamond." Hawke agreed easily, mouth quirking at the scan of her curious eyes. "And you, Serah?"

"Oh, silly me," the woman reprimanded coquettishly, her Orlesian accent tinting the words. "Forgetting to introduce myself. My name is Leliana."

Hawke took her wrist without her realizing it until it was held up, Hawke half-bowed before it. "Of the lilies," Hawke kissed the back of her hand. "A beautiful name for a beautiful maiden, Serah. How fitting. If you don't mind me saying, mistress, you've a face far more gorgeous than any canvas; one I would anxiously hang upon my wall, if such loveliness could be captured."

Leliana watched her distractedly. "Wha… " Leliana's hand drifted back to clasp over her chest, fingers brushing the spot abstractly. She gave herself a little shake. "I mean, thank you, Ser… most kind." Hawke smiled, white teeth glittering, almost feral in delight. Leliana glanced to Stella, but the woman merely scanned the crowds present without care or notice of Hawke's flirtation. When her eyes turned back to Hawke, Hawke could practically feel the impression heavy in the air. Leliana, whether she knew or not what Hawke hid, and Hawke would bet the former, was taken with her. She's created the moment of unbalance and deftly utilized it.

"Leliana," Hawke's smile had gone easy, careful to maintain the favor with which Leliana had taken over her. She was the seductress now and it was a spot she wouldn't give. "I recall the invitation. You're the Duke's mistress?"

"Me?" Leliana startled, "Oh no. I'm just the hired minstrel."

Hawke's amusement was only colored by the confirmation. "Ah, a woman of dark secrets and music."

"Oh Ser," Leliana flustered. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean by that." Hawke was much too professional to openly smile, but the delight shone clear through her eyes.

"Which one of these fine gentlemen may be our good Duke, Serah? I would but have a word, if I may."

"Ahh," Leliana summoned up her returned posture in light of her error. Hawke couldn't blame her, really. Even well-trained as a bard, Hawke had years of experience since childhood on Leliana. It was truth more than arrogance that few stood a real chance against her charm. "Ser Arrigo entertains his hunters, mostly." Leliana gestured towards the back, where the posh nobleman with a face perfect for her throwing daggers stood conversing with two huntsmen demonstrating a bow.

His features were sunken, not emaciated, but the skin laced over fit bones pronounced in an unseemly fashion with an unattractive jutting chin, sprinkled lightly with dark hairs across the chin and dotting back into his hair, which was greasy enough to triple Hawke's own oils at the moment. It wasn't that he was horridly unattractive, but to Hawke, he might as well have been a fish for how appealing he appeared to her. "The Duke appreciates the finer conversation of the hunt, and does not approve of the feminine addition to such manly things, but for show."

"Ahh," Hawke had found an unexpected ally, at least for the moment. Leliana knew her indeed. "Then I shall present myself to him, it seems. Leliana, thank you greatly." Again, Hawke ducked slightly, but this time the chaste kiss touched her high cheek. "I'm most appreciative." Hawke departed quickly, Stella falling into step. Behind her, Leliana touched her cheek gently and glanced back, watching Hawke depart.

"Dear Maker," Stella whispered quietly as they made their way, "That turned _me _on. Are you always this arousing?"

"Only around beautiful women." That subtle quirk took Hawke's lips. She said nothing more until they drew near the Duke. Stella, though proving extremely valuable in all missions thus far, was still relatively new in her first year of field work. "Don't flop now."

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the Antivan Duke looked up from his demonstrators to greet the newcomer. His brow fixed when he looked about them, from Stella in her elegance to Hawke, who greeted him in a deep, masculine tone, long ago mastering the art of manipulating her vocals. "Duke Arrigo," Hawke tilted her head only enough to pass for politeness, refusing to bow to anyone. Stella faithfully curtsied, which quite evidently pleased the man.

"Greetings," the good Duke took in her armor before his eyes roved back to Stella again observingly. "I'm afraid I've a terribly many guests and I don't recall our meeting before?" His eyes swiveled back to Hawke expectantly.

"You wouldn't," Hawke admitted, "It's been some time for me. Duke, if you please, I'm Gamlen Amell. This is my wife, Nyssa."

"Gamlen?" The Duke's surprise was evident. "There's a name I've heard before. I thought your family fell into misfortune, Ser Amell, with a runaway bride and several bad investments?"

"Ahh, it did," Hawke confirmed, "I've since been building my fortunes back up, which is why I've not the chance to attend one of these fine hunting parties yet before."

"So I see," The Duke took in her leathers again, "You hunt yourself?"

"I do," Hawke confirmed, then paused. "Nyssa, perhaps you should go converse with your lady friends. This discussion is not suitable to your frailties."

"Of course, messre." Stella curtsied dutifully. "It was my pleasure to get a moment to meet you, High Duke. Thank you." Hawke was rather proud of the performance. She was, of course, completely mocking him, but done so in an elegant, most convincing manner.

The Duke was pleased. "By Andraste," the Duke declared, "What a lady. If only my wife were so obedient. Come, Gamlen, you must tell me your secret to how you got her that way."

"I purchased her young." Hawke allowed, "She's been trained and grateful all her life, the lass. I've made sure of it."

"Ahh," the Duke shook his head. "I've my own back home. She's a wily one; she'll take my orders and generally knows her place, but with a spirit too free. Sometimes she requires that extra kick into action. Born with all a manner of silly notions that women should be equally sated in the bedroom and learn skills unseemly to her place." Arrigo shook his head gravely, "I once took her to the Gnawed Noble Tavern in Denerim, where she watched a knife-throwing by me and my fellows. Afterwards, when in private, she asked if I could teach her!"

"The. Aud-acity." Hawke mocked.

"Yes, can you believe it?" The Duke agreed. "By the Maker, I had to lock her up a solid two weeks before she learned the ridiculousness. As if I would show her the skills of a Bard!"

"Quite outrageous," Hawke agreed solemnly, envisioning the knife she could slide through the back of his skull. "Women are much too frail for that."

"Oh, they have their uses," the Duke sighed, "when they know their place, like your good lady, if you don't mind me saying."

"Quite true." Hawke agreed again, wondering what Thedas exactly this man lived on. Perhaps he belonged to the Qun. "When they are tempered."

"There, there," Arrigo put a hand on her shoulder, motioning one of the waiters over. "I like you, Gamlen. Here," the server bowed with the plate, "Let us drink."

Hawke took the tall champagne glass that held merely a swig at the very bottom. "To quick and efficient punishment for those unworthy."

"Cheers," Arrigo clinked her glass and downed the little sip with her, making a face before he put the cup back. Hawke followed suit. "Come now, Gamlen. You are a hunter? Let me introduce you to my hunting band. This way."

Hawke could barely wait to slit his vile throat.


	2. Chapter 2

_Snap._

The arrow flew from her crossbow with ease, slicing a clean line through the air to pin the exact middle dot of the target board with a resounding _click _into place. The women clapped delightedly as Arrigo slung an arm around her shoulders. "Excellent, Gamlen! Most impressive." He gave a good squeeze before releasing her shoulders. Hawke mentally noted to bathe after the hunt. "Now ladies," Arrigo turned to the lot of them. "If you will, back to the castle. The hunt is about to begin."

The women giggled for the most part, returning to their rightful place behind closed doors. It was sickening. Hawke was tempted to cut them all, the bloody royals. _Bloody royals, hmm. _The thought was comforting, soothing her anger with a clear, crystalline picture of the lot of them lying in blood about the royal long table, with a serving of toasted nug on the end for her. _Ooh, I like that. _Hawke took another mental note; _sign up for the next royalty bloodbath. Mmm._

"Gentlemen," Arrigo addressed, "Our hunt begins. Remember, stick to the group in formation. No one's held accountable for your actions or injury but yourself. There are many heartless dangers in Val Forest. Stay to the group. Any blithering idiot who wanders off is at his own risk. The one to end the killing blow to the stag remains the victor and will be celebrated at my hosted ball."

_Cowards, _this blighted fool really didn't deserve the space he occupied in the world. _Too pussy to split from a five-manned hunting band? _She scowled inwardly. It was a shame she hadn't the time to locate his ring yet; an accidental hunting slaughter would have worked quite nicely, bodies spattered and torn every which way… _Later, perhaps._

Hawke followed them on out to the woods, which proved to be a very boring excursion. They were amateurs, nubile at the sport in every way and loud as an ass-aching dwarf on estrogen. The only doe they came across fled on miles ahead of them before anyone could even string the arrow. Hawke's lovely imaginary bubble of watching them all be mauled by bears as a possible 'accident' popped with a depressing snap. She sighed, counting down the minutes it'd take this group to trek back without getting lost.

They went on like that, blundering through the forest for over an hour before the men tired of their pointless wandering and sexist jokes. It was a wonder, really. Not even Zevran or Tallison got that bad, even in their worst of moments. Hawke wanted nothing more than to pitch herself in the tub and bathe. Arrigo was the worst of all of them. _His poor wife. _Hawke pitied the woman; if her options had been so bleak, she would've killed herself long before squirming under his hold.

Twenty minutes later, they started back empty-handed and grumbling excuses about bad luck and soggy weather hiding the woodland creatures. Hawke twitched with every foul word from their lips.

"So the woman, sick in bed with a measly fever goes: no. No sex. We'll do it later. As is _she _ought to be the one to decide when my thirst must be quenched!"

Culos gawked. "Who does she think she is, the prophet? I hope you licked her good for that!"

Arrigo shook his head, "You know I don't beat her, Culos. You'd think she'd be more grateful for that, a roof over her head, food in the belly, and a loving husband; at least enough to present herself graciously and sate my need when she's decent enough to be desirable. The wench; I should have left her on the streets of Rivain, she's so troublesome."

Agnese patted his other shoulder, longbow strung and swung across his back carelessly. "You're a good man to take her in, Arrigo."

"It's just a shame," Arrigo shook his head, "She ought to behave more for what I've given her. Like your wife, Gamlen!" Arrigo stretched to include him in the filthy conversation. "How did you train her so well? She was such a lady at my gathering just today."

"Did you purchase her as well?" Dantes inquired from Culos' left. From what she could tell, he was the only one of the group that wasn't a complete and utter bigot as the rest. As the youngest, Dantes spoke with more hesitation. Hawke pegged him for faking the whole bigotry, but the man obviously wasn't a bard or assassin. Clumsy, and not in a way that was forced, he held the bow incorrectly tucked at his armpit instead of the shoulder when the bow was strung, and he held it off kilter so his aim wouldn't be steady. Probably the most nubile of the bunch; Hawke wondered why the young man was included with the group at all.

"I did," Hawke confirmed again, "Off an Antivan slaver in Seleny. The loveliest of the bunch. I purchased her as a servant, but, well," Hawke straightened her armor. It was amateur and bawdy, but as expected, the men ate it up like hungry Mabaris.

Arrigo wore a wicked grin. "She couldn't resist the charms of her master, could she?"

"Nor could I the charm of my servant," Hawke added, "I was so pleased with her, I began to dote upon her with gifts."

Arrigo's brow furrowed. "Gifts?"

"Yes, gifts. I spoiled the sovereigns out of that girl. Purchased whatever she willed and attended her every whim personally."

Arrigo's brow scrunched tighter. "You were lovesick over her?"

"I was," Hawke confirmed, "Asked her to marry me that very year."

"_Asked?"_

"And she's been devout ever since," Hawke finished. "Serving my every whim and desire, presenting herself as I wish when I require her to, and overwhelmingly pleased to sate my desires."

"Really?" Arrigo seemed tremendously confused. "That's… one way to go about it, I suppose."

"Your every desire, you said?" Agnese inquired anxiously.

"Every one." Hawke confirmed.

"Huh."Culos remained equally baffled.

Arrigo's features twisted as he tried to contemplate it. "You know of the trouble I have with my woman, Gamlen. Her spirited nature and stubbornness. You would recommend that I purchase her something?"

"I could not know to recommend unless I've met her, good Arrigo. Every woman is different, of course. Requiring something of their own before they push to that happiness in serving."

"Perhaps you should meet her," Arrigo mused, fingering his scruff undecidedly. "I would like greatly for that level of obedience."

Something rustled in the branches ahead, too heavy to be the breeze. "Wait," Hawke called out, stopping herself as the group paused to look back at her.

Arrigo glanced around, not seeing anything. "Gamlen?" Hawke didn't respond, only listened. "Gamlen, what is it? What're you- "

The silent woodland around them screeched suddenly, freezing the men to scramble for their weapons while Hawke looked upward with just enough time to unconsciously register jolting back. A huge, six foot tall Giant Gorilla stretched to full proportion upon missing squashing her flat and beat upon his breast in rage.

The string of Hawke's longbow released with a snap, whistling through the air only momentarily to slice into his throat.

Screams went up around Hawke, who kicked aside the Giant Gorilla to find a swarm of smaller monkeys attacking her companions. Again, she cursed the misfortune of it all. _This would've made the perfect excuse. _Grumbling quietly, Hawke strung back another arrow and loosed it at a flying monkey that'd jumped on Arrigo's head. Arrigo fell, scrambling back in horror as the monkey dropped from him. He stared at Hawke, momentarily shocked as she took another aim at one of the two monkeys that'd gone after Dantes. The monkey screeched as the arrow pierced through his back. He wrestled with the second.

"Help me! Help me!" Culos screamed, appearing to have dropped his bow as he fended off three with an arrow. Not liking his odds, Culos turned on his heel and ran. _Idiot. _Hawke rolled her eyes as they took chase.

Something sharp pierced her wrist and Hawke glanced down in annoyance to see one of the smaller guys gnawing her wrist with sharp incisors. Corrupted monkey teeth were sharp enough to pierce bone. Hawke pulled a small throwing dagger from her side and held up her wrist to impale the creature through the stomach, who's eyes and mouth went wide in a screech she ended by snapping the creature's neck. _Ahh, _Hawke relaxed into the mood of slaughter. _Much better._

"Gamlen!" Arrigo's foul mouth spewed her given name hurridly. He slammed the blade of a dagger into the sternum of one of the three-foot miniatures and panted, two others closing in on him. Hawke dropped her bow to grab another throwing knife, which ended its flying travels in a sickening squelch to the back of one's skull.

A scream rose up in the distance. Dantes lost his concentration at it and earned a vicious bite to his collar for it. He shoved the beast off. "Gamlen! My father!" Hawke blinked in confusion as the monkey rounded back for Dantes. "Culos!" Dantes got out, catching the beast around the middle. "Please!" Dantes begged, stretching to look a certain direction and earning a raking of claws across his chest for it.

Hawke took off in the indicated direction.

She was actually surprised how far Culos has gotten before they'd caught up with him. With a vicious monkey wrapped around his back and another biting into his leg, Culos lost his footing— or perhaps the monkey had already reached bone in his bite—and fell forward. The third monkey who'd followed lay dead with an arrow through his chest.

Hawke approached at a walk. Culos screamed as the monkey claws ripped through his flesh and tore clean away a vast chunk of his leg. He flipped onto his back in the struggle, flailing in a losing fight and crying. Hawke stepped forward into his direct view. "Gamlen," Culos sobbed. Hawke's nose wrinkled at the stench of urine in the air. Too weak to even move, Culos bled out as the monkeys gorged on him. "Help," Culos whimpered, barely able to speak for his agony.

"Help?" Hawke's lip curled. Stepping right up next to the feral, feeding monkeys, the hard heel of Hawke's boot pressured down upon the upper half of his injured leg where the beast still feasted greedily below. "Tell me again, Culos. How many times did your first wife beg you to stop the first time you raped her with the hilt of a hammer to 'break in that stubborn bitch?' Culos groaned, panting, dizzy with agony as his blood pooled under him, flecking her boots. "When she cried, did you help her?" Hawke's other heel lifted, hovering as she balanced all her weight to that injured leg. "Or did you shut that bitch up?" With all her force, Hawke slammed down the heel of her second boot to his crotch. She thought she heard something crunch, even, but his scream cut off all else, so piercing, even the monkeys stopped to cover their ears.

Hawke had him by the shirt and half-lifted before his voice had even died from the scream. She snarled at him, glower so vehement, even her stare burned him. "May your curdled blood rot with you in the Void." Thrusting him down, Hawke stepped off the worthless shit with a glare so dangerous, the trees shuddered. His whimpers, a soothing melody to her mind, Hawke turned her back and walked away.

**XXX**

She arrived back in time to see the first Giant Gorilla she'd stabbed towering over a cowering Arrigo while Dantes frantically searched for a knife nearby. Agnese lay unconscious or dead only a few feet off.

Without pause, Hawke sped towards it, pulling one of her long daggers from her back to ram it through the Gorilla's heart. She yanked out her blade and turned, rubbing the weapon clean on her legging. "Culos is dead."

"What?" Dantes looked up in fright, immediately climbing to his feet. Hawke sheathed her blade and caught him with an arm before he could run over.

"It's not something you need to see."

Dantes looked at her long and hard, at first pleading, but then stilled. He sagged, supported by her arm.

"Y-You saved me!" Arrigo sputtered, still on the ground.

Hawke wondered if this might yet prove the opportunity she required. "There may be more. Is Agnese..."

Arrigo looked to his friend's splayed form, then back, trying to breathe evenly. "Unconscious."

"Grab him and go," Hawke nodded. "Let's move."

**XXX**

"And if it weren't for your great bravery and skill shown today," Arrigo continued, "None of us would've survived. Gamlen, we owe you our lives." Arrigo lifted his glass to the middle, where Agnese, his wife Relita, Stella, and herself clinked glasses as custom and sipped their small swigs. Hawke downed hers in a gulp; it'd be a long night if there was to be more petty party chatting again.

"Ahh," Arrigo set down his glass on the server's waiting tray as well. "Now, servants." Arrigo clapped twice, summoning his servant lady and half a dozen others who immediately plucked up the table from their midst.

"What's this?" Hawke questioned, watching as all furniture of the room was pulled out, replaced with cushioned pillows framing a four-man pathway down the center of the room, circling around the fountain. Three men with hand-beating drums settled onto three plush pillows near the far end behind the fountain.

"I've prepared something for you," Arrigo informed, "A thanks, if you will." Arrigo signaled their drink man over to replace the slender glasses with new ones. Once more, Arrigo lifted his hands to the side, clapping lightly twice.

The beat of the drums hit the air in rhythmic session. Hawke's first warning came at the extension of a long, dark, slender leg, which appeared out from behind the fountain.

The chimes started in tune between the beats. The bounce of a shapely ass jounced at the beat of a drum, where one muscled leg became two on the ring of the chimes.

Rather than walk, the dark-skinned goddess floated out from behind the fountain, bloodred silk flowing down around perfect, shoeless ankles. Balanced on her toes rather than the heel, the woman gained three invisible inches as her bare feet glided across the floor as if it were a sheet of ice. Hawke had never had a particular fascination with feet before, but the way in which she skated across the floor without seeming to purposefully moved riveted her. A flash of red lifted Hawke's eyes, dragging them up those smooth, unblemished legs as the skirt of her silk fluttered at the back, shivering with every quiver of the tambourine. They were sculpted legs that ran up for miles, seemingly elongated by the flowing silk and imaginary inches the woman created for herself.

Up, up, up, and— Hawke's eyes froze happily at the hips, which sashayed this way, that way, back and left to every beat upon the drum. When the drums paused, the bells shivered in fury, causing that flawless abdomen to pulse inbetween quivers, muscles flexing to spur vibrations through a perfectly fit stomach that flexed before flowing, rippling from the top of the stomach downward like a ceaseless wave. The drums started back up again and that fashioned ass bounced with every beat, abdomen like water for the sinuous undulations it underwent.

Hawke unconsciously salivated, eyes so caught on those hips and stomach, they fixated a good two minutes on the spot until Stella whispered to her from the side under the music. "I think I've developed a boner."

"Me too," Hawke assured, unable to take her eyes off for a second. Stella's words did prod her eyes to rise, however, where they bulged and kept for another minute, untiring of the breast jounce with every beat. Fitted snugly in a small, matching bra, their revealed girth took her breath away. Hawke had seen many breasts in her life, bare and covered alike. None could match to the beasts on this beauty. How did this happen? Or when she did that small bouncing lift that shook those beauties all the way to tomorrow-! _Big. Bouncing. Breasts._

When Hawke finally summoned the willpower to lift her eyes further, it was to travel the length of a long, jewelry enhanced neck, cloaked behind her with lengthened, flowing locks that streamed out from above to capture the slender features of one so fit as to possess high cheekbones in an attractive-set face with lips that read to be kissed and a labret begging to be suckled just below that tantalizing mouth. Eyes of amber brown stared back at her, piercing Hawke with the exact knowledge of one who knew she was being watched and admired. Hawke stared back into those eyes, fixated with every part of her. Their eyes held like seduction grappling its hold, but not a glided step was missed, nor a falter to the rhythmic ripple of her body as that seductress drew ever nearer.

Hawke had never been so riveted in her life.

Those eyes could seduce a statue, Hawke was sure. The spark of life there, so genuinely delighted. They cast a thrall, those eyes. Hawke wondered if she might be yet more than Arrigo let on, this woman who was the perfect temptation. Hawke would have to be careful around her.

She _wanted _to fuck.

The body before her trembled in sync in every beat, every tinkle of the tambourine. When the music sped, her body followed suit, flowing into jutted hip spikes at every corner while that toned stomach rolled and undulated, filling Hawke's senses to the point of implosion. A warm ball of heat roiled in her gut at the mere sight of this graceful, nimble creature of divinity.

The floating nymph drew nearer with every bounce of her hips. The music was speeding too, sending that pristine body into overdrive. Now that she was closer, Hawke could make out the small beads of sweat running through her hair. Her smile still fixed in place, but just a hinge too tight. Her eyes never left Hawke. She'd been dancing now for at least ten minutes, retaining her balance on the balls of her feet while she moved the whole time now. Still, the music quickened, driving her to keep with the speed as her pace quickened. Hawke wanted to look Arrigo's way, to see if he was purposefully pushing her, but she couldn't lift her eyes from the girl.

Faster and faster, her stomach flexed and rolled to the increased tempo, taking all the beats in stride as she twirled, practically hovering on her lifted forefoot as the drums reached a deafening roar, her eyes ablaze with the fire of the beat, steadied exactly upon Hawke- then silenced, freezing the girl to the spot with the music's ending cut where she stayed perfectly still, miniscule twitch in her tired feet passing undetected by any untrained assassin of such subtleties. Hawke tried to catch her eye under her suddenly hooded lids, but the girl remained faithfully still

Arrigo's delighted clapping broke the stillness, joined by Agnese and Stella, who knew their place to play along. Hawke didn't clap. Arrigo stood and crossed to the woman, arm wrapping snugly around those heavenly curves. Only then did the girl relax from her invisible heels, but Hawke noted, though not outwardly stiff to the man, neither did she relax her body towards him in any indication of warmth or relief, even with the obvious exertion of keeping her body moving in such incredible manners. There was no expectation of comfort or coddling. "Gamlen, Nyssa," Arrigo's slimy voice slithered through the air. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Isabela."

"Wife?" Few things took Hawke off-guard, but the thought that this beautiful woman was this decrepit man's wife found her immensely disturbed. _Bastard, _Hawke thought, watching the miniscule droplets of sweat disappear back into her hair from the exertion.

"She is my shining gem; aren't you, Sweetheart?"

Hawke was sickened. Not four hours ago, she'd listened to this pompous bigot criticize and ridicule this foreign treasure for the most common desires, and now pedestaled her for pleasing him before company in a near-torturous lasting dance.

Hawke's hatred for him grew.

Arrigo prodded her arm when she didn't immediately respond. "Yes," Isabela finally confirmed, half-concealed edge biting her tone. "Your golden gem."

"You've pleased us with your performance, Gem." Arrigo bent to kiss the side of her head. Hawke wanted to wince for her. "I appreciate it."

"Of course," Isabela's dark eyes roved over both Stella and Hawke, lingering on the latter. Her eyes narrowed in indecision. "Anything I can do to please the guests."

Hawke wondered if Arrigo knew she was mocking him; both him and the prospect of serving faithfully, likely. She couldn't be sure how the woman felt about her yet. There'd been seduction in those eyes, yes, but Hawke could equally appear to be just another close friend of Arrigos, which Isabela didn't seem to like.

"Serah Isabela," Isabela's brow tightened at the address, perhaps wondering at the polite greeting she couldn't have received most of the time from her husband's friends. Hawke bowed slightly, utterly respectful. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you'll allow me, I'll openly confess to knowing none so fluidic, to the great grace you've bestowed in allowing us to glimpse such divinity."

Stella curtsied politely. "You're supremely talented, Serah."

Isabela blinked, brow furrowed in a manner that she knew not such compliments. She looked to Arrigo questioningly, probably weighing the possibility of being mocked. "There, Gem, you see?" Arrigo rubbed a hand up her arm, to which the fine hairs of her arm raised. "We are most pleased with you."

Isabela glanced back Hawke's way, eyes roving over her face for signs of discrepancy. "…Thank you."

"As I said," Hawke gave a rare smile, both edges of her mouth lifting in an unusually warm manner. "It was my pleasure, M'lady."

"Gamlen is new in town, from Kirkwall," Arrigo explained, "Rebuilding his fortune; it is to him that I owe my spared life today."

Isabela's brow furrowed once more slightly. "Oh?"

"Yes," Arrigo told her eagerly, quite ready to relay the tale for the tenth time. "He was a machine, Gem, I'll tell you. Could've taken the whole slew of them down himself if he wanted, I'd wager. Poor Culos; if only he'd stayed to the group as directed, you may've been able to save him in time as well, Gamlen."

"Yes," Hawke agreed solemnly. "A great shame."

Isabela's eyebrow quirked, watching Hawke closely. "What exactly happened?"

"Gem," Arrigo reprimanded. "Don't be morbid with the company. It is not right to speak of such things in detail in a lady's presence. I'm sure Nyssa doesn't want to hear of it."

"Oh, I don't mind." Stella waved off.

Hawke would've grinned outright if she wasn't so trained.

Still with the pretense of respect to Arrigo, Hawke looked to him questioningly.

"Ahh," Arrigo squeezed Isabela's shoulder. "My flower is a tad more delicate, Gamlen. Perhaps another occasion, or you and I can converse of it later."

Hawke inclined her head only slightly, but her eyes remained locked with Isabela's. "As you say, Arrigo." Isabela's quirked brow lifted further. "Another time, perhaps?" Isabela's expression turned again, interest peaking, especially in those eyes. "We should love very much to discuss this ball instead."

The very corner of Isabela's mouth twitched.

Hawke was pleased.


	3. Chapter 3

Later that night, Hawke placed three small throwing knives into the bedside dresser carefully and shut the drawer. In the posh Griffon's Inn the Crows had paid the price to put up for appearance sake, Hawke was fresh from the indoor shower, a luxury not often afforded the poor Crow Assassins. Hair ruffled and unkempt, sustained spell dropped for the time being, Hawke felt much refreshed from her recent, vile company.

Hawke turned, leaning back against the dresser as her eyes found Stella. The woman dragged a brush through her long, dark strands before a large vanity pushed back to the far wall. The sight of her rhythmic strokes both pleased and settled Hawke, for it also reminded her of the fluidic beauty they'd watched only hours ago. Hawke stayed there a short time, watching her long moments until Stella finally laid the brush down, turning slightly to check her hair in the mirror.

"You're beautiful."

Stella's playful jades swiveled over to Hawke, where a small smile tugged at her lips. "And you're unhealthily charming."

"Is it charm to state the obvious?" Stella rolled her eyes, the sarcasm offset by her gentle smile. She held the perfect look for an assassin; gentle and warm, she was always unsuspected. "Come here," Hawke gestured, tapping her legs to indicate. Stella crossed the room to her faithfully, where Hawke reached out, arms winding around her waist. She tugged her, making Stella lose her footing and stumble into her. Before Stella could barely tell what was happening, Hawke had them completely flipped, pinning and grinding her back into the wood of the dresser.

Hawke's teeth pierced her neck, where she bit Stella and chewed, tongue smoothing out to warm over the injured area. It wasn't gentle, but had Stella inhaling quickly, a rush of heat blossoming within her as Hawke pulled her possessively against her. The press of her body, unguarded by that armor she'd been wearing all day sent Stella into hushed dizziness.

Hawke chewed her, pausing only to lift her chin and lick that lobe. She whispered between flecks of that lavish, warm tongue. "You taste…" Hawke licked that soft space between her ear and the lobe. "Like the sweetest secret Andraste bestowed in the wake of abandoning this world."

Stella groaned, feeling Hawke's teeth on the high underside of her chin of her upper jaw by the ear. It wasn't even one of her sweet spots, but Hawke easily flushed her with warmth at the aggressive biting. "Are you part vampire?" Stella whimpered, feeling the feral grin Hawke now wore, force so deliciously hard, she was bruising.

Hawke's hand lifted to fist in her hair. Stella inhaled breathily, positively mewling when Hawke tugged her back again to revisit that neck. Hawke purred into her skin, returning to her original spot on her neck. Stella moaned, melting fully into Hawke who held her half shoved upon the short dresser, curled to her body.

"Leliana," Stella startled, but Hawke held her steady, barely pulling back at all before her narrowed eyes found their intruder standing before an open window. "To see you here…" Hawke purred, not missing a beat of the sensuality she'd built up. Stella shuddered, lapsing back under her seduction. She breathed hard, pupils wide, wishing Hawke would bite her again. Though mere centimeters from devouring her, Hawke's crystalline eyes were now sharpened on their newcomer. "This _is _surprising." Hawke could smell the lust on Stella even now; the girl quivered for her. Hawke kissed that silken cheek at the edge of her lips. Stella bit the inside of her lower lip, hard.

"Gamlen," Leliana greeted in turn, shifting, "I…'m sorry for interrupting."

"You interrupt nothing," Hawke kissed Stella full on those tasteful lips, provoking a mewl when Stella started to kiss back and was halted by the fingers twined through her hair. She looked to Hawke pleadingly. "Speak."

Leliana couldn't for a breath. Hawke tugged back at her hair, lifting Stella's chin once more to bite the welted flesh. Hawke smiled into Stella's neck, knowing exactly what the pause showed in Leliana.

Leliana took a moment to gather herself. "You come with intention to harm Arrigo, I'm assuming. This may be conflicting."

Stella's breath hiked suddenly as Hawke clipped her wounded skin between feral teeth. "We don't seem to like that." Hawke murmured.

"If your intention is to kill Arrigo, I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that."

Stella gasped again with Hawke's fingers suddenly sliding into her core. She pinched her aroused nub, making the poor girl gawk speechlessly at the unexpected, sudden entry and clung to Hawke, eyes closing in delicious pain between the teeth on her sore neck and the fingers at her core.

Leliana's gaze have riveted to where Hawke shamelessly brushed up her nightgown and now toyed with the girl who, judging by her gaping expression, was enjoying a dozen primal ecstasies. Hawke noted her discreet movements, the twitch of her nose as Stella's scent hit her, that slight tremor to her extended fingers. "A curious notion," Hawke mused, "Considering I spared his life earlier this day."

"Arrigo has many enemies," Leliana started.

"I'm- " Stella's voice hitched at Hawke's flicking. "Not surprised."

"And I know a skilled assassin when I see one. He is alive because you want something, but I've no vain notion that he will remain so with the Crows on his back, nevermind one so exceptional."

Hawke growled into Stella's lips, tone hardening. "A foolish way to protect your Duke, don't you think, Bard?"

"I'm here to propose a dual." Leliana clarified.

Hawke inclined her head then, catching Leliana's gaze under Stella's chin. Stella choked as those fingers worked within her, caressing between squeezes, the quickened dip of her flicking between tightened flexes. Little droplets of sweat trickled from her hairline at the intense clenching of her inner muscles around those deviously talented fingers. Hawke could feel the tremble shivering delightfully through her body. Stella gawked, mouth forming the name her lips were forbidden to speak. "H- " she gasped, "Haw— "

"Shhh, Pet," Hawke hushed, quieting those lips with a kiss. Stella whimpered when Hawke pulled away, fingers still skillfully diddling, even as Hawke felt her bite down through her shirt. "You think you can kill me?" Hawke smiled as the sounds from Stella muffled through the cloth of her shirt, "In one-to-one combat?"

Stella shuddered, clinging to her front tightly, eyes shut tight as those fingers continued to move. "H-Haah- " her voice cracked as those tight inner muscles twisted further, pitching her into the blissful throes of her second orgasm.

Hawke pulled out of Stella, supporting her instead under the ass as she lifted her hip-high, second arm wound snug around her back. She carried her still-trembling woman over to the bed and eased her down onto the mattress. "A shame, really," Hawke lamented. "You really are quite pretty."

Leliana dropped as the _swsh _of a dagger flitted through the air and _ping_ed into the wall behind her where her head has just been. When she looked to Hawke, it was to find a hint of delighted surprise. "The drawer's still open."

A smirk tugged the corner of Hawke's lips. "Clever girl."

They were both in motion again before a normal fighter would process the start of the fight, one of which that saw Hawke at an immediate disadvantage. Leliana darted for her, pulling her daggers mid-rush. Hawke rolled to avoid her first downward slash, somersaulting to a stop where she flipped her second throwing dagger. Leliana's head flashed up in just enough time for the dagger to _swsh _harmlessly past her neck, slicing through a few hairs as it embedded in her second wall. Leliana flew at her, daggers raised.

Hawke caught the first blade with her tiny one and hopped back as Leliana sliced across her middle, cutting a rip across her clothes. Hawke suspended her upper blade with her greater strength, the daggers tip hovering only inches above her head. She snatched Leliana's wrist with her free hand and twisted. Leliana cried out, fingers loosening to drop her dagger with an additional bend. Grabbing up the weapon, Hawke released her hold above and split, zipping out before she could bring it down to bear. Leliana yelped, more in surprise than pain as the small throwing dagger cut a shallow slice over her shoulder.

Leliana whirled to see Hawke facing her, small throwing knife in one hand, longer dagger poised in the other, interested eyebrow quirked. "You're cute, Flower Girl."

Leliana pulled a third dagger to replace her second, eyes narrowing. "And you're cocky." She lunged, quick-stepping in to chop at Hawke's arm, cutting the girl at the same time a stinging gash opened up on her shoulder. She made to stab to the woman's belly, finding a small dagger at her jugular as the point of her dagger tipped her stomach. Their eyes met in the pause, both dancing with the danger of a matched assault.

Hawke shrugged, spark dancing in her eyes. "What's a pretty sneak doing anyway, protecting a bag of filth?"

Leliana nudged the knife aside and flipped back, hearing another _ping _as the little knife sailed over her back in the air. "I'm not protecting him." She landed on her feet, daggers crossing to protect herself if Hawke should decide to throw the longer one at her.

She did not. Instead, Hawke threw the long dagger down, embedding it straight up from the floor. "Yet you'd die for his safety."

"His suffering will last." Leliana insisted, a trickle of sweat beading her brow. "I've an assignment just as you."

"Pity."

Leliana rushed her, daggers flexed out at her sides for an intended cross-body scissor. Hawke ducked under the assault, grabbing her arm fully and twisting it back to push Leliana to the wall using her own forward momentum.

"That was sloppy."

Leliana grunted. Hawke reached for her other arm; Leliana swung back dangerously, but Hawke caught the arm at the elbow and stilled her, shoving the limb sideways against her own back. Leliana's arm trembled in her grip, fighting to lash out while Hawke held her high and low. Hawke kept her pinned to the wall, hovering just over her ear. "You fight for filth."

Leliana gritted her teeth. "My employer wishes to see him tortured. He's unworthy of a quick death."

"And I won't give him such." Hawke released her upper arm to grab higher on the hilt of her dagger, where she ripped the weapon free of Leliana's fingers. Leliana squeezed her eyes shut. "Your fight is for waste. You yield."

Leliana's eyes popped open in surprise. Hawke released the pressure at her back, freeing her limbs to allow her to turn around, where Hawke stood, dagger held limp at her side. "Give your word."

Leliana rubbed her wrists, eyes lifting from the dagger to stare Hawke down. "You would spare me? Why?"

"Because you're hot," Stella blurted, drawing both of their heads, apparently having recovered. "And Hawke's scarier than any employer you'd ever cross," she added, sighing. "Can we just do her now? You've already got me soaked."

"Stella," Hawke tutted reprehensively.

"Hawke." Leliana took the moment to wrap her arms around Hawke's neck. "I… rather enjoy the danger of new adventure." She pressed forth, lifting herself to hover seductively at Hawke's lips.

The blade end of her dagger pressed threateningly to her abdomen. Leliana glanced down, then back up with hurt eyes. Hawke would not be seduced. Not yet. "Your word, Bard." She reminded. Leliana pouted, but Hawke only pushed the blade.

"Fine, fine." Leliana sighed. "You'll see no interference or scale-tipping from me. On my honor as a Rogue, I swear it."

The dagger cut across the front of her armor, cleaving it clean before being thrown straight to the wall. "Good." Hawke took her face and kissed her, backing a surprised Leliana to the wall roughly as she bit down on those lips, provoking a moan. When she pulled back, Leliana clung, mouth finding her throat. "Stella, to me."

"Ooh," Stella cooed, bolting from the bed to them. "I love it when you're fun."

Hawke grabbed her.

**XXX**

Though her late night casing of the left wing of Arrigo's estate had yielded nothing promising, nothing more than a few un-missable sovereigns anyway, Hawke remained in unusually jovial spirits, even when summoned in invitation to attend a pre-ball ceremony that interrupted Hawke's intentions to thrash her women throughout the afternoon. Even so, when Hawke left her, Stella still crossed her legs, bemoaning an inability to walk, where she'd wobble at the ball.

Hawke fetched their lunch downstairs, returning to find Leliana gingerly fingering Stella's swollen breasts in a manner that almost earned them both another spanking. She relented to let it go just this once, for Stella would still need to be presentable later on tonight. Leliana stayed to eat with them and administered Stella with a touch of softer care that Hawke otherwise failed in supplying. Hawke let Stella rest and went on to view the pre-preparations alone.

Arrigo quickly put a damper on her bright spirits, but Hawke soothed herself imagining a new laceration for every foul word he spoke. She wondered how no assassin had gotten to him sooner, especially in his Antivan homeland, but oh for the merrier task for her. Arrigo took both she and Agnese through the ballroom, social parlors, smoking room, and dining. They lost Agnese at the bar, but Arrigo continued on without him, telling her Agnese lacked appreciation for his lavish, expensive finery, which Hawke found extremely tragic, as she was the only one expected to converse with him now.

A depressing afternoon peaked in interest, then, when Isabela first showed with a cadre of servants who'd set up in one of the hallway fitting rooms that Orlesian ballrooms often had, to allow the petty nobles the ability to change in the midst of the night when one found themselves too bored with their original finery. As it was, Arrigo gave the dressers a number of instructions on several different dress ideas. Hawke entertained herself by catching Isabela's eye when Arrigo's eyes were elsewhere, her flirting silent, but just as deadly. Isabela arched a curious eyebrow in turn, but remained too subdued by her husband's presence to respond in kind. Hawke could practically smell the calculation in those eyes as they watched her.

All too soon, Isabela was ushered away, back to her dressing room to be fit and measured for her ballgown selection today. Arrigo pushed them further to the balcony overlooking a vast estate with fountains and pool, trees dotting the land. Hawke couldn't imagine how much it'd all cost. He spoke of his wealth and of Rialto back home, boasting of the many more acres his land provided.

They returned inside after a long stretch of this and shared a drink, as was the popular custom among Orlesian gentlemen. More servants appeared as others began to ready the tables and liven the decorations, in addition to the same troupe of Isabela's whom arrived to fit Arrigo's expensive suit. Arrigo, especially pleased with Hawke's keen eye during the showing, grandly permitted her to walk the grounds anywhere in or out or to openly share the bar with Agnese.

Hawke chose to wander, having quite enough of nobility company to last her the rest of the year. She idly thought of Stella writhing again, breasts heaving in her ecstasy as she'd received orgasm upon orgasm yesterday. In her mind then, those breasts darkened a shade and swelled, reaching full, gravity-defying proportion as they jiggled in tune to the bellydancer's step. Hawke smirked, mind already wandering to the great thrashing she could give that body, suckling those breasts…

She passed Arrigo's door in her wandering, somehow making full circle while her mind had roamed, but her eyes paused only a second to re-recognize his dressers, who'd been Isabela's not long ago. Spurred by the thought, Hawke continued down the hallway where she reached the partially open door Isabela had disappeared into. She listened, but the scuffling of shoes remained absent, as was the idle chatter and compliments of servant girls at work.

Deeming it safe, Hawke silently opened the door and stepped inside.

Isabela stood there in an elaborate, mellowed peach dress that billowed from the waist down, circling out, and positively caked with rippling layers that Isabela seemed none too happy with. The middle of the dress squeezed her abdomen in suffocating measures so that her heaving breasts, already generously revealed at the low-dipping neck, appeared even larger with every swell of her breath. She held a hand over her stomach, idly trying to flatten the layers while she waited for her servant dressers to return. Hawke leaned back against the wall, watching her for the moment. Isabela sighed softly, turning her head down and away from the mirror to frown at the dress. She looked up quickly, completely missing Hawke in the shadows of the wall in the quick check, then turned back to the ruffle she'd currently worked to flatten. Taking the opposite edge of ruffled fabric, Isabela pulled both ends, tearing the piece quickly up the seam.

Hawke smiled in faint amusement. "Arrigo wouldn't like that."

Isabela startled so bad, she nearly toppled upon turning, frightened features staggering in shock as she took two wary steps back. "Andraste's fuck! Where did you come from?" Isabela breathed for a long moment, taking a moment to register Hawke's words. Isabela's eyes darted down at the rip in her dress before shooting up back to Hawke. Mortified indecision played fear across her face

"In all rights, the garment's hideous," Hawke agreed. "I'd have ripped it too. Maybe burned the piece and fed it to the rats, but with all accommodation for its faults, you're building my appreciation for how a noblewoman wears her fashion." Isabela's brow creased. "Then again," Hawke reconsidered, "That may just be my appreciation for you, all things considered."

Isabela straightened, fear lifting to be replaced with a wary confusion. "Gamlen, right?"

"Your tongue graces my namesake, Lady."

Isabela seemed uncertain. "What're you doing here?"

"The door was open in passing, Lady. I was charmed by the wonders you do for that dress."

The suspicion in Isabela's eyes sharpened. Her eyes darted towards the door. "It was closed." Isabela's arms folded over her chest. "What're you playing at?"

"No games, Mistress," Hawke assured, holding up her hands innocently. "I merely wished to deliver compliments where is due." Hawke tilted her head to the girl. She was beautiful, of course, but beauty often came with danger, and Hawke still didn't know her loyalties. She started for the door.

"Wait!" Isabela blurted, pausing Hawke as footsteps clicked upon the floor. Hawke felt a warm hand on her elbow then; she half-turned to face her. "You stare at me, out there with Arrigo present."

Hawke noted the reference. "Is that such a surprise?"

"No," Isabela allowed, "But the manners are. Arrigo's friends are never so… " her eyes roved over Hawke before settling on her face, still a hint of suspicious present in those eyes. "Pleasant…"

"Ahh, I am but an acquaintance, Mistress."

Isabela gave her the most curious look. "You're a little _too _smooth." Hawke quirked an eyebrow. "Shut the door."

"Lady?"

When Hawke failed to comply, Isabela pushed it shut for her, trapping them both in the room. "No one's this charming without an angle. And you keep showing up, feeding me compliments. What's going on here?"

Hawke turned then to face her fully, blazing blues transfixed on those fine features, hand lifting slowly to touch Isabela's cheek, where she traced a line back across the skin. Isabela didn't flinch away, but neither did she entirely accept the touch. "Perhaps I'm merely sympathetic."

Isabela tilted her head slightly, features relaxing a little. It wasn't exactly leaning into the touch, but in the same direction of Hawke's hand as the older woman stroked her cheek. She blinked, confusion evident amidst the doubt. "Are you…" Hawke felt the attempted suppression of hope in her words. "Leliana's friend?"

Hawke would've startled if she'd been any less the professional, but her face showed no tells of her surprise.

Faint footsteps from the hallway would've passed any lesser ear. "Someone's coming," Hawke alerted, taking Isabela by the arm to tug her along behind the dressing screen.

"How do you— " the footsteps grew louder as voices broke the air as well. Hawke pulled her behind the screen, but Isabela cringed. "It's white. Your shadow…" Hawke glanced about with her for a place to hide. Perhaps she could slip into that clothing chest and— "Are you Leliana's friend?" Isabela demanded suddenly, gripping Hawke's arm.

"Yes."

"Get down," Isabela pushed down on her shoulder frantically. Hawke gave her questioning look, but obeyed. The door handle started to turn. "Duck down." Without further warning, Isabela picked up the bottom hem of her dress and lifted it over Hawke, stepping over to hide her so Hawke ducked straddled under her legs. "Don't touch anything." Isabela hissed, moments before the door creaked open.

The light peach umbrella offered just enough lighting for Hawke's eagle eyes to work with, illuminating a soft glow from the top of the fabric that dimmed further the deeper in. Hawke hunched on all fours, curled in as much as possible to avoid poking out anywhere. She glanced around the darkened fabric, listening intently as the voices entered the room.

"Mistress," one spoke in particular above the others, "Oh, mistress, why're you hiding again? You look lovely. Come now, let us size exact proportions."

"No," Isabela rejected. "The dress is ripped. I cannot wear it."

"Ripped?" The footsteps tapped across the floor, drawing near with every soft pad until Hawke reckoned she was just beside her. "Where?"

"Right here," Isabela pointed out, causing a quick shift of the light as she showed the tear.

"Oh, Maker," the maid exclaimed. "Goodness, what is that from? Here now, let me see." Isabela grunted in the back of her throat as she turned slightly. Between her legs, Hawke made to slowly follow in the same direction. "Oh, me." The maid sighed, seconds before the dress poked in at a spot. "Well, let's see if it's repairable. Isabela, stand straight. Why're your legs so far apart, honey?"

Above her, Isabela grunted again. "I rather just find a new dress. Something not… billowing. Or peach."

"Honey, the color makes a lovely contrast to your skin!" The maid sighed again, this one more exaggerated. "Please, just be cooperative for once, legs together now." Isabela's legs shifted, closing in to squeeze on Hawke's sides. Hawke resisted growling. "Here now, it won't be so puffy if you beat this part in." The front of the dress where Hawke's head was suddenly beat inward. Hawke reeled back, head halted at Isabela's hips. She heard Isabela's suckled in breath before two hands pushed down on her head, hard, shoving Hawke down straight between her legs. The maid was still beating away at the front of the dress. Hawke cast an annoyed look upwards, after which, her scowl dropped.

Perhaps feeling her breath, Isabela squeezed the upright, crouched girl with her legs again. Hawke turned back down respectively, much as she wanted to lick her there instead. "Could we just," Isabela sounded particularly strained, "find another dress please? Something simple."

The maid sighed haggardly, finally quitting her beats. "If not peach, what color do you want, Mistress?"

"I… will decide that in a few minutes. Leave me."

"Yes, Madam," the maid sighed, "I will search what we've brought for you to suggest some colors." The footsteps started to retreat. Hawke touched her ankle delicately, drawing small sigils on it to distract herself.

Isabela waited till the door closed, then hiked her dress in an unlady-like fashion and stepped back over her head. "Stop that," Isabela batted Hawke's fingers from her ankle. "What're you doing?"

"You have beautiful ankles…"

"Don't get all hard on me, pretty boy. I knew you were too suave."

Hawke took her offered hand to pull herself up. "I meant it."

"Tits, where do they make you rogues?" Isabela shook her head. "Never mind. Just watch your mouth next time."

"You're lucky I didn't bite you," Hawke growled, "Smelling as you did with noth— " Hawke paused, eyes flicking up to her face. "Next time?"

Isabela rolled her eyes. "Men," Her eyes flicked to Hawke's face, scanning. "Even if you're not as bad as the rest of your lot… thank you for not touching me." Hawke tilted her head respectfully. "Even after I started… responding." Isabela shied then, hesitating. "It was… different. Feeling someone's breath there…"

"Isabela?"

Isabela blinked at the sound of her name. She shook her head rapidly. "Sorry. I—uhh," Isabela cleared her throat. "So you're Leliana's friend? I didn't know she was bringing in someone else so soon."

She really should've just fibbed, but Hawke didn't want to lie to Isabela. The woman had enough overbearing men controlling her like a puppeteer plaything. "Leliana… is a friend," Hawke started honestly, "But I'm not the guy you're expecting in this."

Isabela froze. "What?"

"I'm not Leliana's assistant." Hawke clarified.

Isabela glanced uneasily towards the door across the room, impeded by the room divider and Hawke. "Who are you then?"

"Not your enemy."

Isabela shifted. Hawke saw her eyes flick towards the door again. "What's your angle in talking to me?"

"Nothing. Just sympathy for the slaver you endure. I didn't expect you'd known Leliana."

"Well," Isabela pushed back a few strands of hair. "Can I know why you're poking around Arrigo's inner circle?"

"Sorry," Hawke apologized genuinely, shaking her head. That was too big a risk. It was already dangerous with all that Isabela knew, but Leliana had been working to sabotage the Duke as well, and she seemed to be going along with it. Hawke measured that she could trust Isabela in degrees. Besides being a beautiful seduction, Isabela was still a variant in the equation. Hawke couldn't trust her yet.

"Ahh," Isabela sighed, "Leliana couldn't tell me everything either. But you're her friend..." Isabela shook her head. "You should go anyway, Hilsa will be back any moment. Don't want to have to repeat the hiding trick again."

"I'll go. But Isabela," Isabela glanced up to Hawke at the door, "I look forward to the ball for you."

"Oh, stop," Isabela colored faintly, "…Maybe he'll find a chat acceptable."

"I'll make sure of it."


	4. Chapter 4

In an elegant lavender gown that drifted to her ankles at its lengthiest point, long straight hair falling halfway down her back, Stella appeared as royalty on Hawke's arm that night. She looked to Hawke with a faint smile. Where the bloodlusty rogue could appear horrifying in her rage, Stella would openly admit to girlcrushing at her appearance tonight.

Hawke stood beside her in a trim, fitted tux with a collared undershirt and a dashing, bloodred tie emblazoning the rich color of scarlet lust that contrasted perfectly. Stella had helped to wrap her chest earlier this evening and refreshed her sustained spell covering the bloodmark tattoo on her nose for civility. Instead of slicking back her hair tonight, Hawke hair fell frisked and down in the manner she favored most. She was the picture perfect charmer. Stella knew those eyes drawn to them weren't for her. Hawke was _stunning_; passing for a beautiful boy among all onlookers. There were some whispers, of course, for Hawke's feminine exquisiteness couldn't all be brushed aside, but Arrigo must've spread the word wide about the charming son who'd saved him; they faced no open questions of confrontation.

Knowing no one but Arrigo and his bar-happy mate Agnese, Hawke separated off with Stella relatively quick, gathering them both drinks from a passing tray to hold the appearance of polite socializing. "How're your breasts?"

Stella almost spit back up her champagne. She choked on a swallow, laugh bubbling up through her raw throat and coughed, hacking over it. Hawke gave her a curious eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Yes," Stella chuckled, swallowing back to sooth her throat. "As are my breasts, thank you."

"Good."

Amusement colored Stella's sea green eyes, "Hawke?"

Hawke continued to scan the crowd. "Gamlen."

"What're you thinking about?"

"That man in the blue tuxedo."

"You're thinking about a guy?" Stella's eyebrow hiked incredulously.

"I'd like to strangle him with my tie."

"Oh," Stella chuckled, shaking her head. She took Hawke's arm and patted it twice, sidling against her. "There, there," she comforted, "Do you see her yet?"

Hawke glanced back at her, but Stella merely appeared curious. "No," Hawke frowned, "And she probably won't be out 'till later when he makes his entrance."

"It's a shame to see a girl like that tied up in a man," Stella sighed. "Especially one like him."

"Agreed," Hawke rubbed her side where Stella had tucked into. "How're your legs?"

"Are you asking me to dance, Husband?"

Hawke nodded over to the man in a blue tux who currently couched the edge of the ball stage, clumsily attempting to lure susceptible women. "Agnese is Arrigo's confident now. I would have wagered more that he'd let Culos know of the ring or even trust him to hold it for him, but Agnese may have been kicked into the spot. Go be friendly, Stella."

"Oh sure," Stella sniffed, "Truss me up and gangbang all night when it was supposed to be Leliana, then offer me up to the first disgustingly seducible man on the curb."

"Stella,"

"I'll go if you ask nicely." Stella revised.

Stella yipped as her still-tender ass cheek was cinched between two fingers who'd dropped behind her without notice. "Don't make me spank you again." Stella pouted, but crossed the room nonetheless. Hawke growled when the drunken sot stumbled clumsily into her breasts, hands lacing around Stella's ass as he stumble-pushed her onto the dance floor. Hawke bumped him up on her hitlist.

Keeping her peripheral eye on Stella, Hawke checked the hall for something to occupy her so she wouldn't be bustled into speaking with any nobles. She needed a distraction; else, Agnese might end up with a knife in his back in the middle of the dance floor. Hawke eyed expensive liquor cask behind the bar, the two by three _Valsh_ barrel Orlesians had recently taken to using at expensive parties, given only to the most prominent of guests to share with the host. _Hmm…_

Twenty minutes later, Hawke interrupted the drunkard's lusting over her 'wife' with a solid crack to his jaw. Agnese howled and guests gasped; Stella pitched herself into Hawke's arms, the assuring husband who'd saved her. A burly man who looked to be a bouncer took one look at the lady and hauled Agnese up, dragging the drunkard back and away.

"Come on," Stella tugged Hawke by the arm out to the side of the dancing hall where they could speak more privately. "I'm glad you punched him though. Bastard was trying to finger me through my dress the whole time.

"He touched you?" Hawke hissed, glower turning back on the drunkard. She started for him, but Stella tugged on her wrist.

"Not here. Besides, I found something useful." Hawke's steely eyes returned to her, promising retribution later for Agnese' crimes.

"What?"

"Turns out, our boasting Duke put on a little display for both Culos _and _Agnese. Took out the ring and turned it on his finger in some manner that unleashes its power, only he doesn't know how, Arrigo didn't show them that or what it does, just slipped it off when fine lines started to glow on it. I suppose that's how we could tell it's the one when you find it."

"And?"

"Nothing in his pockets but these," Stella pulled a small key from her bra along with three sovereigns. She paused, then deliberately reached in again and pulled a fourth.

Hawke kissed her roughly, taking her bottom lip between two teeth, she hissed. "Don't tempt me."

"Unh," Stella moaned softly, "I've never craved so much sex in my life."

Hawke kissed the wounded lip. She was half-tempted to find a quiet spot and take her right there, if Stella could stand it.

A horn blared suddenly throughout the hall, startling several nobles with the announced Host's arrival to the party. Hawke and Stella separated, connected only by an arm around the younger girl's waist. People scattered to the sides suddenly, forming a long pathway for Duke Arrigo to walk through, but Hawke's eyes had already fallen and latched on another sight altogether.

Striding into the room with long, extended steps, a dark-skinned vision glided out on his side. Gone was the garish dress of accentuated ruffles and bad blends of skin tone, replaced instead with a long, simpler dress that hugged to Isabela's curves from breasts to hips, where the style was then tailored to loosely flutter, trimmed higher in the front with an elegant flow to her ankles at the back so Hawke could see those smooth, muscled legs with just as much exactness as the dress revealed clenching around her breasts and stomach. The top dipped straight down to the top of her abdomen, breasts barely held in by the material that V'd back over them before cross-lacing at her back.

"Look," Stella nudged, as if she wasn't already staring. "She dressed to match your eyes. I've never seen a blue so deep in fabric before."

Hawke had noticed, indeed, that the dress wore erringly close to her own eyecolor, but her attention was caught now. Isabela's hair free-fell in tresses, spilling down over her shoulders with a single allocation of strands that fell forward before her face. She'd been accentuated in gold, between the jewelry drizzled upon her for expense- sake, but seeing a beautiful woman in a dress had never brought on a keener appreciation.

Stella's arm hooked through hers suddenly, stilling Hawke, who'd started to growl. "Down, girl. Stay with me now." Hawke glanced at her then and, if Stella had been anybody else, might've killed her for that reminding lock on her arm. "Work first, sex later."

Hawke rumbled. "That's not how I do business."

"Then it's a miracle how far you've excelled." Stella laced her fingers with Hawke's. "Now stay."

Hawke gave her a withering look, but Stella considered it a victory when she didn't immediately pull away. Both looked back to Isabela gracing the walkway. "Well," Stella sighed, "At least you're wearing pants. Should hide the dripping a little better."

"I'm going to bite you," Hawke threatened.

Stella grinned. "You always bite me."

"Wax, then."

"Ooh," Stella cooed. "Promise?"

"Gentlemen and ladies," Arrigo reached the middle of the dance floor to address them, "I am pleased to welcome you all to the finest Rialto Noble Ball of 30, Dragon Age! We have dinner and entertainment provided throughout the rooms and into the courtyard for your enjoyment. More tables will be brought in momentarily, where our feasting will commence. I bid everyone a delighted New Year! Cheers." Having no glass of his own, Arrigo instead bent to kiss Isabela, unexpectly catching her full on the mouth.

"Ahh, ahh!" Stella panted, gripping Hawke's forearm with her free hand. "Hand!" Hawke barely noticed. Stella felt her bones about to snap. She slapped Hawke, almost getting herself murdered before Hawke's eyes showed recognition. She released Stella's poor victim hand.

"Sorry."

Stella blew on the throbbing limb, channeling a minute cure to the spot. It was actually a big thing to hear the woman apologize. "It's okay," Stella forgave, massaging from her wrist to palm. "Just— calm down a little bit. Remember— wax. Sex. Feeding Culos to the monkeys in bits." Stella checked Isabela's status from her peripheral vision, glad to see the kiss had not lingered.

Hawke sighed forlornly. "That was a fitting death, wasn't it?"

"Very fitting," Stella agreed, immensely grateful for Hawke's soothers.

"Why, Gamlen!" Hawke growled lowly, nudged by Stella as the all-too familiar Antivan-accented voice. Stella fixed a generous smile he was unworthy of in place. "By the Maker, you look ready to run someone through."

"Ser Agnese processed a little too much drink today," Stella interrupted to inform, wrapping an arm around Hawke's at the elbow. "He stole me away for a… sensitive dance. My sweet husband does not take easily to such."

"Is that why I saw Agnese dragged back holding his chin as I walked in?" Arrigo shook his head. "The man doesn't understand property; owned women are not to be touched, I say. Admired, but untouched." Arrigo clamped Isabela tighter to his side. He kissed her cheek. Isabela lowered her eyes shamefully, accepting the touch without protest.

Hawke struggled to retain her calming mental picture of slicing his balls off. When he saw her mood had not improved, Arrigo laid a hand on Hawke's shoulder. "Come now lad, let us not spoil the night with harried chat. I do wish to invite you and your lovely Stella to my table, Gamlen."

Because it seemed like Hawke wouldn't, Stella stepped in to accept. "Many thanks, Messre."

"Right this way," Arrigo led.

Hawke found herself seated on Arrigo's right, the women both positioned on his left. Hawke politely refused the _Valsh _drink and signaled Stella to do the same. They sat there, stuck conversing while the food was prepared and brought before them, offering lavish dishes from every corner of Thedas. Arrigo made a speech every half hour without fail while Hawke endured in strain, counting the drinks Arrigo took, making a new toast at every opportunity. She caught Isabela's eye the few times the older man wasn't looking, encouraged on by Stella, perhaps, who'd been speaking avidly to her. The night dragged on. Hawke became more agitated with each passing moment, increasingly jealous of the woman's side of their long table.

When they'd finished their meals, Arrigo refreshed their drinks and tapped the edge of his glass with a spoon. The noise tinkled throughout the hall, silencing the Orlesians one by one as each person heard the screaming glass when the last one shut up. The hall took a good six minutes to fall silent.

"Gentlemen and ladies," Arrigo started in his own annoying manner. Hawke wondered just how fun it would be if she shoved her fork through Arrigo's eye now. Almost certainly would be worth the lashing the Crows would give back, even if they used the stretch and cut torture. She watched Arrigo out of the corner of her eye, debating it. "As you know, this ceremony is set forth every year of our calendar, and it is my pleasure and honor to host this year's festivities, but I withdraw, this celebration would not have been possible at all if it weren't for this young man beside me. My next praise goes to him, Ser Gamlen Amell, brave fighter and savior of me and my company on our hunting trip yesterday. We lost a good man that day, but if it'd not been for Gamlen, none of this would've been made possible at all. I propose a toast for my good friend Amell. Long live the line!"

"Amell!" A series of voices raised in cheer as the nobles lifted their glasses to Hawke.

"Ser Amell," Arrigo addressed formally, for the crowd's sake no doubt. "I toast to you with a worthy award for saving my life: I wish to grant you any such boon that you may ask for tonight, in equal exchange for the bravery you've shown us in saving my life."

Hawke perked in interest at that. "A boon?"

"Indeed, a boon," Arrigo confirmed, "I think that fair, don't you lad? Go ahead, request whatever it is your heart desires."

A spark filled Hawke's eye. She caught Isabela looking to her curiously, hoping Hawke would drain Arrigo dry of a great sum indeed. Stella winked at her. "Ahh," Hawke's mouth twisted for the first time that night, something both sparkling and frightening alike in that smile. She stood. "Dear Arrigo, I wish only that I may share a first dance."

Arrigo chuckled, shaking his head. "You lovestricken fool, you may ask for anything and you merely wish to share a dance?" Some others down the row of Arrigo's 'important' table chuckled with him.

Hawke stepped behind Arrigo and stopped short before her wife, then turned to Isabela instead and took her hand in kneeling. "Lady Isabela," Hawke proposed, "I would be honored if you grace me with your hand in dance."

A few gasps followed, a few aww's and some mumbled whispers, but best of all was the mortification written across Arrigo's face. Hawke wished she could raise her head, just to see it better, though it pleased her so from her peripherals. Arrigo balked, at odds with controlling himself, unable to contain his gaping at Hawke's unexpected audacity.

Hawke lifted her head, if only to look at Isabela expectantly, who stared at her with wide, bulging eyes of disbelief. "Lady?"

Arrigo sputtered. "B-P- Surely you wish only to share the dance with your wife, Gamlen!"

Stella waved that offer off, "I feel ill from my earlier dance. Please, take her instead."

"I…" Isabela glanced back at her husband, who balked and glared at her, infuriated. She turned back to Hawke, who waited patiently, smooth hand laid under hers in asking, a manner Isabela had never been served with before. Isabela peeked back once more at her angry husband, then quickly back to Hawke. "I accept." Isabela agreed finally, "In honor of the great deed in saving my husband's life, I will gratefully dance with you, Ser Amell."

A smattering of applause greeted her words. Isabela stood, beckoning Hawke to rise with her. Hawke offered a rare, genuinely delighted smile and took her hand, leading Isabela out from behind the table where servants cleared the dance floor. Isabela paused halfway behind the table, gripping the bottom seam of her dress. She tugged to rip it, but the fabric was tough. Hawke knelt before her and took the spot herself, tearing a strong line up the seam to the bottom of her thigh, where she then tore the dress completely across, then wound back around Isabela to tear away the bottom fabric all together, which she lazily tossed off to the side. Isabela chanced a look back to her husband as Hawke brought her out to the middle of the dance floor. She gulped, seemingly more than a little intimidated, but Hawke could see the intense excitement in those eyes.

"Antivan Danger, if you will," Hawke ordered loudly, specifying the tango-esque song for the musicians to play. Hawke turned fully towards her once she'd reached the middle of the dance floor. Drawing Isabela in close, Hawke's hidden, wrapped chest pressed to Isabela's back. Hawke wrapped an arm around her stomach, overlacing Isabela's lower hand. She grabbed her arm near the shoulder delicately. "You're beautiful, you know."

"That's all you have to say?" Isabela glanced over her shoulder, feeling Hawke's breath on her cheek. "Arrigo could _kill _you for this. He could kill _me _for accepting."

"Arrigo won't be killing anyone tonight," Hawke whispered, breath hot on her ear and cheek. The music started. Isabela rolled back her shoulder, fluid motion struck in tune to Hawke's as her hand slid lower down to her forearm. "Nor ever again when I have my way." She spun Isabela away from her body as the key dropped perilously. Isabela spun twice, two rotations from Hawke as the violinist's note peeled back keening. She reached out a hand to clasp Hawke's, eye to eye with the rogue now only several steps apart.

"Is that why you're here?" Isabela's back leg stretched back far and straight, balanced on that pointed-toe leg at Hawke. Hawke went down with her, kneeling just above ground on one leg with the other struck across and under to balance it. Hawke lowered with the length of Isabela's stretched leg. "You want to kill him?"

Hawke lifted, stepping back as she advanced, each step dragging in tune to the keel. "What I want," Hawke's retreat halted, staring Isabela down with their hands linked in the middle. Hawke tugged, and Isabela responded, taking one dangerous step forward, then twirled back around another two rotations in, hands sliding up her arms to grab Hawke about the shoulders. Hawke's arms wrapped around her middle back, dipping Isabela low from her wrapped chest. She held her there, Isabela's leg splayed the length of Hawke's far dragged foot, back foot supported on that high heel. "Would have you chaining those of your desire."

Isabela lifted her head, licking that bottom lip deliciously. "Who says I don't already?"

Hawke lifted her fully, tantalizingly slow until she could feel Isabela's breath on her cheek, had her hand in her own. She lifted an interested eyebrow. "Isabela's a naughty girl?"

Isabela lifted a leg, holding it over and across Hawke's ass. "I'll let you decide."

"Let," Hawke rumbled lowly, stepping to the side to turn Isabela with her leg still up. She completed a half-circle until the leg dropped, drawing back with a kick of the grounded one as Hawke pushed her in closer from her back, top only until Isabela's breasts smushed her chest. Hawke's left hand drifted down from Isabela's, wrapping around the girl's back snugly with the first as she dipped her again, sliding Isabela straight between her legs, Isabela plush against her, faces only inches apart where her arms wound about Hawke's neck. _"_The choice is always yours, Lady. You can _let _someone control," One of Hawke's arms loosened around her back. She flipped Isabela spectacularly with the other, dipping her full back once more so Isabela stretched an arm, supported only by Hawke's single limb as Hawke looked across her front with fire in those eyes.

After holding the spot, Hawke dragged her up, chest reverberating in passion. "Or you can take it," Hawke hissed, predatory body dangerous as she forced Isabela back, the woman kicking either way by every step. Hawke stopped after three. "As it rightfully belongs to you." Hawke dallied in a flay of leg work that even watchers found difficult to follow, kicking this way then that, crossing over her own to entwine with Isabela's as the two flew across the dance floor, never faltering in step. Hawke's face was so close, Isabela could practically smell the lust between them. She leapt into the air, completely trusting as Hawke caught and held her suspended there a good three seconds before the race across the ballroom continued, steps in tune to every prickle of the music and each other's as if trained dancers.

Isabela was fascinated. She spun, then flexed out her arms allowing Hawke an easy three sixty of her own, catching those graceful hands on the turn before Isabela flew off into fancy kicking footwork of her own, supported by those two strong arms. She kicked high then, and Hawke caught her leg, encouraging the other to follow with a telling bump of her knee. Isabela gave in full trust as Hawke's bottom arm curled around her back, second one sporting to wrap her side and belly. Isabela kicked her legs out freely, uncaring of the dress before snapping her legs together as Hawke twirled. Hawke lowered her abdomen arm, wrapping those legs around her body as Isabela clung with the arm around Hawke's neck. Hawke spun, grabbing hold of her around the knees mid-turn with a breathy whisper Isabela barely caught. One more rotation had her neck support released, the arm dropping from her stomach as Isabela flew. With the last turn, Hawke released her legs with a gasp from the crowd as Isabela skirted off, landing in a slide on her side where she rolled once, then froze on the last beat of the music, facing Hawke splayed out.

The hall erupted in applause. Hawke crossed over to her and offered a hand to help her up, pulling Isabela right up to her body again. "I'd swear you have a death wish," Isabela whispered, voice well hidden with the crowd.

Hawke touched her cheek, fingers brushing the jaw fondly. "Some things are worth dying for."

Isabela lowered her head; Hawke didn't like the doubt she saw there. Arrigo was already making his way over. "Will I see you again?" Isabela asked, voice almost too frail to hear.

"He won't have you again," Hawke promised. "I'll be around."

"_Isabela!" _A rigid grip closed around Isabela's upper arm. She winced when Arrigo jerked her back, possessively clutching Isabela to his side with a deep-set glower steadied on Hawke. "A most _enlightening _tango, Gamlen," Arrigo growled, blinking a few times in his glare.

"Ser," Hawke tilted her head in the half-inclination to a bow that she only ever dipped for anyone. Aware of Arrigo's rage, Hawke wouldn't further push his buttons. Not yet, anyway. "Thank you for sharing your lovely wife tonight."

Arrigo gritted his teeth at her, baring them against what seemed like a yawn. His eyes darkened, narrowing dangerously. "You'll excuse us now." It wasn't a question. "My wife has premeditated our busy night, it seems. We must make haste if she is to complete all that she's set out for herself." Arrigo's filthy fingers touched her chin then, dirtying the tingling spot Hawke had left on her jaw. He tilted her face up to him. "Isn't that right, _Gem_?"

Isabela glanced once at Hawke, then lowered her eyes shamefully. "Yes, Messre. A busy night, as you say."

Perhaps not liking the shy response or her shifty glance, or perhaps simply cementing his control of her, Arrigo pushed up her chin further and lowered his mouth to hers. It took every fiber of Hawke's willpower not to gut the pig right there, even harder to retain the appearance of civility in her features. Isabela failed to suppress a whimper and only then did Arrigo part from her, if only to catch the submission in those eyes. He stroked her cheek hungrily, making a show of what was his. "We'll be leaving now, Gamlen." Arrigo informed, flexing his jaw experimentally. He blinked again, then looked to his crossed-boundaries friend. "Do have a- " Arrigo faltered at the pure hatred he saw there, more defined than any glare he'd received in his life, terrifying even, only showing through Hawke's blazing azure eyes.

Arrigo pushed Isabela along. "Night." Arrigo bid, ushering them both away quickly.

Stella took her arm several long moments later, tugging her at the elbow with clear concern across her features. Hawke still hadn't moved, even as other nobles began to crowd the dance floor, some even addressing her in passing. "Hawke?" Stella whispered, accustomed to Hawke's rage, though she'd never seen it in this degree before.

"Let's go, Stella," Hawke growled, so infuriated, she'd even called her by name on the job. "We've a busy night to attend to."


End file.
